Nightmare
by Rose Fletcher
Summary: Denmark has a nightmare and 2p Norway shows up. Shiz happens. Rated T for blood and suspense.
1. Chapter 1

Denmark's bright blue eyes shoot open. Light streams in through the thin curtains that barely cover the massive windows of his bedroom. It streaks in and dances, painting simple lines in the room with disturbed dust particles. Somewhere nearby, a bird chirps. Denmark sits up, rubbing his eyes. What was it that woke him? He gazes around at his large bedroom. Embers glow faintly among the ashes in his massive stone fireplace, the canopy on the top of his bed sways softly with the breeze coming through his open windows, and the air smells sweet and crisp like spring. Gently, he pushes the covers off of him and swings his feet over the side of the king-sized bed.

A scream rips through the air, shattering the peace of the morning. Denmark freezes, terror slashing through him. The scream cuts off abruptly, leaving a heavy silence hanging in the air. Eyes wide, he stares at his door, frozen with shock. The scream starts up again, louder and more insistent this time. Denmark shakes his head and surges to his feet, clad only in a pair of soft, grey trousers. The stone hallways are full of ninety-degree corners and thus catch the echo oddly, stretching it all around him like a blanket. Where did it come from?

He tears through the hallway at a breakneck speed, his eyes catching on a pale wooden door. He whips it open. A flurry of white feathers rushes at his face, blinding him and causing him to fall over backwards. He slams into the hard, stone ground as white birds of all shapes and sizes flutter around, swarming him. Their serrated beaks rip and claw at his skin and clothes, trying to pull him apart. Blood rushes down his forehead and into his stinging eyes, blurring his vision with red.

They swarm and peck at him, tearing out little pieces of his pale flesh. Blood runs freely down several wounds and he cries out in pain as a bird nips at his ankle, tearing out a large piece just above the bone. Their gleaming ivory feathers are soaked in a deep crimson red, rendering them beautiful and terrifying. Denmark retches in pain as blood soaks into his pants and spills onto the floor.

He tries to yell, to call for help as the birds orbit him in vicious circles, obstructing his vision and injuring him. He can't make a sound. His wrenches his mouth wide open and falls to his knees, the need to make even a small noise overwhelming him now that the ability has been taken away. A piercing whine rings out in his brain as panic takes over. He screams silently, his throat going raw. Why is it that even though he can't make a sound, his screams are deafening?

Pain shoots through Denmark's left hand and up his arm as a bird rips off his middle fingernail. He gasps, and retches, the panic and pain turning his stomach in nauseating circles. They flock to the blood, picking and nipping at the open wound, digging it deeper. Denmark's hands claw at the birds in the air around him, having no effect.

Another scream just like the first tears out again, stopping abruptly without echoing this time. As soon as the sound ceases, the cloud of birds disappear. Denmark lifts his head, a solitary tear slipping down his bloodstained face. He casts his eyes around feverishly, searching for a trace of the birds, but nothing besides his wounds and blood remain to suggest that they were there. He stumbles to his feet and staggers down the hallways, a new resolve hardening in him. He knows that voice.

The hallways disorient him, twisting and turning in different ways than he remembers. Hard, grey stone gives way to white-washed walls, floors and ceilings covered with blue and gold tapestries that are woven together to create one, large, sprawling tapestry. Denmark runs through the halls, the desperate need to find the scream building up to a hard pit of anxiety in his stomach. Walls, ceiling and floor blend together, becoming a dizzying maze. Everything looks the same; every tapestry, every stone, every piece of thread. He breathes heavily; fear overtaking him and settling beside the anxiety. His head is pounding in time with his feet. He _needs _to find it.

Blood dribbles from his ankle and drips onto the floor, creating a dotted ruby red path on the blue and gold checkered cloth. He trips, a worried feeling gnawing at the center of his brain. Something's wrong. Something is very, very wrong. His footsteps gradually stumble to a stop and he slowly turns around, his breathing getting shallow.

Denmark's eyes widen in horror at the sight. Blood dots the carpet, not in droplets, but footprints, showing the path he took. It isn't straight. The ruby footprints twist around, running in circles, up walls, and up to the ceiling. But the ceiling, oh the ceiling. He falls to his knees and vomits, retching until there's no strength left in his muscles. He shakes with horror and exhaustion as tears slide down his face, unbidden and unwelcome. A sob escapes his throat. Blood drips down unhurriedly from the ceiling, stretching out into a long, thick line and finally breaking off into a little droplet of crimson red that splashes upon the floor. It has the viscosity of honey.

Another scream shrieks through the air, and Denmark covers his ears, silently screaming. He hiccups with sobs as the scream continues, pain vibrating through his head. His head lifts slowly and he stares at a line of twisting footprints just like his own stretching out before him. Seeing no better option and unwilling to continue wandering around aimlessly under the bloody ceiling, he staggers to his feet, following them.

With eyes half closed, he runs down the halls, no longer paying any attention to anything but the bloodied prints in front of him. He keeps his hands locked over his ears long after the scream dies down, trying to block it out of his mind.

The footsteps stop abruptly in front of a tapestry hanging on a wall. A bloody handprint to match the footprints sits on the side of the checkered cloth. Its edges quickly bleed into the cloth as Denmark watches, rendering it unrecognizable.

_I can't._

He reaches out to grab the tapestry, hand shaking.

_I can't._

He pulls it back, and gazes at a long, dark staircase going down. The darkness is in sharp contrast with the blinding brightness of the hallway.

_I can't._

Gathering his resolve, he steps forwards and descends.

_Stop._

All light vanishes as the tapestry shifts back into place.

_Stop._

He walks down the steps carefully, hands still covering his ears, wishing for even just a glimmer of light to soothe his high-strung nerves.

_Stop._

Denmark's foot slides forward suddenly and he loses his balance, scrabbling to grab something.

_Falling._

The smooth stone walls yield nothing.

_Falling._

He falls down, stretching out his hands palm down to break his fall.

_Falling._

Denmark lands, pain shooting through his muscled torso as he lies over three steps. His face hovers an inch above the floor and his arms ache from holding himself up.

_Stand._

Mustering as much courage as he can, he crawls down the steps and stands on his two feet.

_Stand._

He's at the bottom of the staircase, facing a door at the end of a short hallway.

_Don't go._

Every bone and muscle in his body protests as he walks forward, sure that this is the place the screams came from.

_Don't go._

Blood dribbles down his lip. He wasn't aware that he was biting it.

_Don't go._

Denmark's hand reaches out shakily and pushes on the door, opening it. His eyes widen in terror.

_Blood._

A small sob escapes his lips as light from the flickering candles illuminates the scene before him.

_Chains._

Norway hangs chained to the wall, his bare torso decorated with gashes ranging in size. There is at least one for each scream he's heard. Norway. How did he not recognize his voice before?

Denmark takes a step forward, focused on the other country.

"Hello, Mathias!" A sadistically bright voice calls out behind him.

_No._

Denmark turns around slowly, already knowing who he'll find.

_No._

"You know," the voice continues happily, "it's been _forever _since I've seen you!"

_No._

When Denmark opens his eyes, the man he sees looks like Norway, but isn't. His dark blonde hair is arranged in the same way as Norway's, but with an inverted black cross pin instead of Norway's signature golden one. An ugly burn scar stretches out of his collar and up the right side of his face. His purple-blue eyes glitter with genuine happiness and love. It's not a love Denmark wants any part in.

_No._

He giggles and tilts his head to the side, "Oh my! I forgot that you can't speak, Mattie!"

Denmark hisses at the nickname, finding that he can no longer move his limbs.

The man grins widely and gestures to Norway with a bloody knife. "I thought that this little rat was getting too close to you lately." He stops and pouts. "I haven't seen you in forever! I was beginning to think that you had forgotten about me," he runs his hand over Denmark's chest, taking advantage of the fact that he's lost control over his limbs and whispers in his ear, "or that you didn't love me anymore."

_No._

"Come on, Mattie!" the man giggles. His eyes sharpen to two slits, his smile turning feral. "Why don't you show him how much you love me?"

_Never, _Denmark thinks. To his horror, his limbs start to move on their own. The man grins wildly again, closing his eyes and clapping with glee. Norway's eyes open slowly. He moans.

_Norway! _Denmark tries to call his name, but can't even move his mouth. Norway's look-alike purrs softly and leans against Denmark's chest as his arms close around him.

Norway's beautiful blue eyes settle on the two of them in disgust.

"Anko," he says hoarsely.

Denmark can only stare blankly back.

"Say it," a sugar-coated voice says sweetly. A finger traces his lips and the man breaks into a cruel smile. "Say that you love me."

"I love you," the words are out of Denmark's mouth before he can even try to stop them. A tear slips down Norway's face

"I hate you, stupid Anko!" Norway shrieks, his voice cracking on the last word. He dissolves, breaking apart into a flock of black birds that surround the two people left in the room.

"Norway!" Denmark yells desperately, black shapes flitting past him with astonishing speed, finally having the ability to control himself back. The other man is nowhere to be seen.

"Norway!" His voice cracks and he stumbles through the birds, trying to find his friend.

"Norway!" Denmark screams, desperate. "Norway!"

"Norway, Norway!" A familiar voice mocks him, impersonating his voice.

"Oh, stupid Anko!" The voice does a mockery of Norway's and cackles. "Do you really think he loves you?!"

Denmark sobs and falls to his knees.

"Don't be sad, Mattie," the voice coos. "Don't be so sad."

* * *

><p>Denmark screams and thrashes, bolting awake. Sweat pours down his face. Light streams in through the thin curtains that barely cover the massive windows of his bedroom. It streaks in and dances, painting simple lines in the room with disturbed dust particles, eerily similar to his dream.<p>

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, feeling sick. Rubbing away the sleep from his eyes, he opens the door to the hall and peers out. Cream coloured walls and light hardwood flooring greets him; his normal hallway. A crooked picture hangs on the wall across from his door of the Nordic countries. It's a picture of the five of them in the ocean when they went to Hawaii together. The photo is one of the rare pictures where Norway is smiling. Despite the nightmare, Denmark smiles and rights the picture. As soon as he takes his hand away, it shifts back to tilt slightly to the left. His eyes soften, these little pieces of normalcy comforting him.

He casts a glance down the hall to see the oak door to Norway's room. It sits at the top of the stairs. Denmark's smile widens a bit as he stares at it, knowing it's empty. He turns around and crosses back to his bed, sitting down softly so as not to wake Norway. He plays with Norway's curl, twirling it around his finger and smiling softly.

"Oh, Nor," he laughs softly, embarrassed. "You came to sleep with me because you were having a nightmare, but I guess I had one too."

He stops and stares up at the canopy draped above his king-sized bed. It sways softly in the breeze drifting in through the open windows. He frowns sadly as he recalls the hazy details of his nightmare, "It was a bad dream, Nor." He shudders, "Too much blood."

His eyes wander back down to the smaller nation and he smiles again, "But it's just a dream. It'll fade from memory soon." On impulse, he whispers, "I love you, Norway," and lightly kisses his cheek. Norway stirs and Denmark jumps back.

_Oh, crap! _Denmark thinks, going red. Norway rubs his sleepy eyes and looks up at Denmark. His heart freezes in his chest.

"It wasn't just a nightmare, Mattie."

_No, no, no, no._

"I think you'll see that I don't fade so easily."

_No, no, no. This is all wrong. I'm awake! I _am_ awake, right?_

He sticks out his tongue playfully and tilts his head to the side, revealing a burn scar and grinning.

"I've finally found you!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
><strong>AN: Hey'all! ^^ Glad to be writing again! This is totally different from any of my other works, but I quite like it. And it's DenNor! *fangirl squeal* Yaaaayy! My first DenNor! It's unrequitted though, poor Denmark ;'(  
><strong>**I know that 'Mattie' isn't a nickname used for Denmark often, but I needed a nickname, and it's kinda grown on me. :)**

**I have no idea if I'm going to continue this or just leave it...**

**Let me know if you like it or not! XD**


	2. Chapter 2

Big, bright blue eyes that shine like a fresh summer's day stare into his. Denmark's eyes sparkle with unshed tears and swim with despair.

_He's so gorgeous when he's sad, _2p Norway thinks. He reaches up and brushes a hand across Mattie's soft face, anger flashing through him when he flinches.

"Aw, Mattie," he pouts, sticking his chin out cutely. "Aren't you glad to see me?" His hands cup Mattie's face softly and he leans forward, wanting to kiss him.

Mathias twitches and pulls back quickly. "Don't touch me, you bastard." The words hit him like a slap. He's been waiting for this moment for years, and now this? His eyes close in anger.

_Oh well, _he thinks, smiling and opening his eyes again, _I _will_ have him, whether he wants it or not._

"Call me Loki, Mattie," he giggles, sugar-coating his voice. "It _is _my name after all."

"I don't care what your name is, b-"

Loki's fingers press into the sides of Mathias's cheeks, squishing them and cutting him off. He lowers his voice. "Call me Loki," the words cut into the air. Mattie's eyes shine with hatred, but Loki just giggles. The fun is in the challenge, after all.

He bites his lower lip shyly, ducking his head and digging his fingertips into Mattie's cheeks. "Now kiss me."

Loki leans forward slowly, giving Mattie time to make a choice: pull away or submit to the inevitable. The Dane starts to pull back and anger slashes through Loki again. He digs his fingernails in and roughly pulls Mathias forward, covering the other man's lips with his.

Mattie puts his hands on Loki's chest and pushes, attempting to push him away. Loki pushes back, throwing Mathias onto the bed and climbing on top of him. Viciously, he digs his knees into Mattie's chest and pins down his arms, never breaking their connection once. His tongue runs along the other man's bottom lip, seeking access. Mathias's mouth stay's stubbornly closed.

_Oh Mattie, _Loki thinks, sighing, _when will you learn? You can't win against me._

Suddenly, Loki shoves Mattie against the bed and his mouth opens in surprise. He sticks his tongue in, sighing and moaning.

"Mmf!" Mattie grunts, pushing against him. He bites down on the Norwegian's tongue, hard. Loki's eyes flutter open and he gasps as blood trickles down his lip. Angrily, he shoves his knees deeper into Mattie's chest. Taking his hand away from the Dane's arm, he grabs his chin and yanks it down, forcefully opening his mouth. Loki pushes further into him.

With his free arm, Mattie jabs his fist into the Norwegian's side. Loki grunts and uses the momentum, rolling onto his side and pulling Mattie with him. The sudden movement takes Mathias by surprise and before he can take advantage of the situation, Loki flips him over again, pinning his arms painfully beneath him. He sinks deeper into Mattie.

"Mnmf!" He grunts in pain, shoving futilely against Loki.

He just smiles, using one hand to hold his chin. His other trails down Mathias's muscular chest and abdomen, digging his fingers in. Mattie gasps and convulses, desperately needing air. Loki juts out his chin playfully, pretending to pout.

_Beg me Mattie, beg me for air._

"Mmnf!" Mattie's grunt turns into a groan as Loki ties his tongue with his. His shoving gets more insistent, and he's gasping, searching for a scrap of oxygen.

_Beg me more._

He pushes down, closing any openings and pushing his knees into his chest more. Mattie's eyes snap open in fear, but with his arms pinned beneath him, there's not much he can do.

_Play with me, Mattie._

Loki's hand travels up Mattie's torso slowly, letting his fingers rest on each defined muscle while he struggles.

_Play with me, fight me, beg me. More, Mattie, more._

"Nnnm!" Mattie whines, convulsing harshly. Loki's hand reaches his neck and he trails it softly, letting his fingers rest on each ridge, each pulsating muscle, the feeling of control overwhelming him. He lifts his mouth off of Mattie's and pulls back as he begins to feel him weaken. He pinches the Danish man's nostrils together, forcing him to breathe through his nose.

Keeping his knees pressed lightly into Mattie's chest, he watches as he struggles to breathe properly with his mouth held open and nose unavailable. Mattie heaves, his chest struggling to rise and fall while burdened with Loki's weight. His eyes are closed, eyebrows drawn together in pain as he attempts to free his arms and chin.

Loki clucks his tongue. "Now, now, Mattie. Don't get ahead of yourself." He leans in close, whispering in the other's ear. "I'm not done with you yet." Loki nips Mathias's earlobe and giggles.

"I love you, too," he whispers. Mattie stiffens under him.

"Since when did I say I loved you?" He spits.

The Norwegian tilts his head to the side, his lips brushing against the Danish man's ear, "In your dream."

He releases the Dane, making his way to the hallway while he's frozen from shock. Mathias gasps air through his mouth and nose, finally able to breathe properly. He coughs and staggers out of bed as Loki quietly shuts the door. He touches his finger to the brass doorknob lightly, murmuring a small spell. Seconds after he finishes, Mathias's fists slam into the door with a loud _thump_!

"Dammit, Loki let me out!" Mattie's muffled voice can be heard from behind the door. The doorknob rattles as he tries to open it. Loki's eyes turn sad and he traces his finger along the natural lines in the oak door.

"Things would be so much easier if you loved me Mattie," he whispers as Mattie continues to try and break the door down. "Why don't you love me, Mattie?" He lets his hand drop down to his side and turns around, noticing a crooked picture of the five Nordic countries. He peers closer at it, recognizing each one. His eyes come to rest on the Dane, his arm slung casually over his look-alike's shoulder, holding his other hand out in a peace sign that covers half of an annoyed Iceland's face and grinning like a fool.

Carefully so as not to mark the non-reflective glass he holds up his thumb, just blocking out his counterpart's face. He sighs sadly, wishing that was the way it could be. No Norway, just him. Him and Mattie, forever. He lifts his hand, righting the picture. As soon as he takes it away, however, it shifts back to its original position. He frowns and touches his finger to it, murmuring a spell that instantly rights it, leaving it sitting perfectly parallel to the floor and walls. Before he leaves, he casts a glance at the picture.

_I swear to you, Mattie,_ he vows silently, _I will make you smile like that._

As he wanders down the hallway, a heavy feeling descends upon him and he falters. Loki grabs the sides of his head and shakes it, trying to dispel the feeling. Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong? He finally has everything he's ever wanted. Of _course _there's nothing wrong.

"E-everything's okay," he whispers, sniffling. "Everything's fine. Why wouldn't it be?"

_Why?_

A tear falls to the floor, splashing softly on the light hardwood. His hands fly to his face, fingers exploring his cheeks. They're wet. Why are they wet? He's not… crying, is he? Why would he be crying? There's nothing to cry about.

_"Since when did I say I loved you?"_

Of course Mattie loves him. Right?

_"In your dream."_

More tears follow the first, slipping down his cheeks and splattering onto the hardwood like rain.

_You didn't forget, did you? How could you forget?_

He starts to shake and drops to his knees, tears flowing down his face.

_Don't you remember? Don't you remember me?!_

Loki's fingers claw at his face in an attempt to stop the tears. He pushes he heels of his hands into his eyes and rakes his nails down his cheeks.

"S-stop it!" he sobs. "St-stop c-crying."

_I'm not that easy to forget, am I? Am I?!_

Sobs rack his body, his chest heaving and breath hitching with each one. Little trails of blood mix with his tears and make their way down his face.

_The problem's not my eyes,_ he realizes. _It's my heart._

His hands fall from his face and search out his chest, coming to rest just above his heart. He clutches at it, wishing for a knife.

_But I can't die. Not yet._

He staggers to his feet, a new resolve hardening in him. Vaguely, he notices the pounding on Mattie's door has stopped.

_I have to make you smile._

Casting a longing glance at the door, he turns around and takes a step down the polished, ornate staircase.

_And once I do, I'll kill you._

He continues down the stairs, heading for the kitchen.

_That way, you can smile forever._

Rounding the corner, he pauses and gazes up at the decorative crystal chandelier hanging above his head. It glitters, its many glass gems catching the light and throwing it around.

_With me in your arms._

He wipes away the tears on his face and steps into the kitchen.

_Because then I can finally cut out my heart._

_Because then we can truly be together._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
><strong>AN: Huehuehue…. I feel so evil right now, I love it. I love writing yandere characters! They're so much fun! ****(****ﾉ'****ヮ'****)****ﾉ*****:****・ﾟ* ****Looks like I'll continue after all! ^^**


	3. Chapter 3

Darkness surrounds him, weighing him down and pulling at his floating limbs. Is he awake? Is he asleep? His thoughts float out in front of him, ethereal and white, twisting and fraying until they fade into nothingness. Where is he?

Bright eyes drift open, searching for something through the inky blackness. Nothing exists but him and the infinite darkness. The feeling of panic vaguely registers within him as the realization dawns that there is no light, but it is short lived.

Squares of coloured light start to flicker into existence before him, adding something other than himself to the nonexistent scenery. It washes over him, illuminating his skin. He strains his eyes, leaning closer to see the distant, blurry details. Finding that he can move, he pushes with his arms and legs, propelling himself forwards. He's not walking, but gliding. Stretching out his hand, he hyperextends his fingers, hoping to touch it. Momentum carries him towards his destination.

_Just a little closer._

With a jolt, he realizes he can't stop. Nothing exists in the blackness but him and the lights. Nothing exists to stop him. Nothing exists to help him.

_What is this?_

A warning pecks at the base of his brain. Something's wrong with the lights. He kicks his legs and windmills his arms at a desperate attempt to slow down, succeeding only in losing his balance. Toppling forwards, he stretches both arms out before him, adjusting his perception of gravity. Now the lights are up instead of in front.

_This is wrong._

His fingers extend upwards. Mist curls in wisps and clouds, spilling over the edges of the flat lights.

_Stop!_

Warnings scream in his mind as he moves unceasingly towards the lights. Suddenly, the temperature drops to below freezing.

_No! This isn't right!_

He kicks and struggles, needing to stop, to change his course, to go anywhere but the lights. Terror, raw and pure, fights its way up his throat and seizes his heart.

_No!_

The air thins, oxygen becoming scarce. His fingers brush the edge of the freezing light, instantly going painfully numb.

_No! Stop!_

They slip through the translucent surface, plunging into unseen depths.

_No, no!_

A sob tears out of him as he realizes he can't move any longer. The sobs turn to screams as his fingers are sucked through. Pain slashes up his arms in violent spikes, reverberating through his bones. He's being pulled apart, bone by bone.

_Why is this happening?!_

Each individual nerve that connects each finger to his nervous system is rent asunder, the dead nerves trailing out with the bone and flesh. Blood rushes down his arm and he screams, horrified as it drips onto his face, but powerless to stop it. Next is his hand. Sobs rack through him.

_Why am I still awake?!_

He jolts and bobs in place as the light starts to work on his wrist. Flesh slowly splits apart, starting on his thumb. Agonizingly, it tears and peels away in translucent strips, blood trailing it and floating in preserved ruby-red droplets in the gravity-less air. Nerves connecting to the base of his thumb slowly split and he shrieks, his pain tolerance long since passed. The bone cracks and splinters, falling into brittle shards that float away slowly, joining the blood.

_Why aren't I dead?!_

His screams turn guttural and unrecognizable to his own ears. His wrist falls away into the nothingness of the light, blood pouring down the stump. Moaning in terror and anticipation, his arm sinks in. Bright light washes up to the elbow, having swallowed the rest. Dead nerve endings and pieces of flesh fall down to greet him, speckling his face with blood.

_Why can't I be dead?!_

Bones splinter, the sound deafening to his ears. The joint tears and fractures as bone and ligaments are wrenched apart. Flesh is torn in furious slashes as the last thing to keep his forearm attached. It falls into the depths of the light, taking nerves and blood vessels with it. Veins, arteries and capillaries are riven; blood welling up and leaking out of every opening. It flows thickly down what's left of his arm, splashing on his face and chest.

_Why?!_

His mind detaches itself from the pain, and he watches with mild disinterest as his arm sinks up to his armpit in the light. Somehow, it feels just as awful to watch and not feel it as his arm is ripped out of its socket.

He watches from the vantage point of several inches above his body as his flesh stretches taut and breaks like a rubber band stretched too far too often. He notices the obvious lack of noise that his screams of pain previously filled, but can't seem to summon up the energy to start again.

The bones break apart with a loud snap, signaling the end of his arm. He's sunk in up to his shoulder and the light creeps towards his neck. Instinctively, he jerks away. Like before, it does nothing to halt his progress.

_This is it._

A pressure builds up in his head. He squints as his vision goes static, trying desperately to make sense of his surroundings.

_Where am I again?_

Vaguely, he feels something slithering up to his shoulder, the feeling both nauseating and mildly painful. Little pinpricks of pain herald the snapping of his collarbone as the light creeps ever closer to his head.

_Why is it so bright?_

Muscles and tendons at the base of his neck rip open and fall away from the bone, dead. He barely notices when one eye is torn away. It floats off into the nothingness of the light, optic nerve trailing behind it like the tail of a kite.

_What was I doing? _

His eyes slips closed as his head is finally engulfed by the light.

_Is this the end?_

**A/N: Another chapter! ****(****ﾉ****ヮ****)****ﾉ*****:****・ﾟ****Sorry it's so short this time (_ _;) Only 974 words…. But at least it was interesting and fun to write! ^^ Thanks to everyone who reads this and likes it!**


	4. Chapter 4

Denmark's fists slam into the door, seconds too late.

"Dammit, Loki let me out!" He shouts. He doesn't have to try it to know it's locked. No reply comes from the other side, so he just keeps slamming his fists into the solid door.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit!_

Furiously, his fists strike the polished oak door. He wants to scream at Loki and force him to let him out, to bring Norge back and disappear for good. But trapped in this room, there's nothing he can do.

_Where did you go, Norge?_

His thoughts start turning down a road he doesn't want to follow. Shaking his head, he beats the door harder, hoping the pain will distract him away from his thoughts. If he's hoping for anything besides silence from the hallway, he doesn't get it.

_That bastard probably has Norge tied up in the basement, _he thinks bitterly, knowing it's not true. If 2p Norway is here, that means the real Norway would be much harder to find. 2p's couldn't stay around their original counterparts for long without negative effects.

So then where is Norge?

"Please be okay, Norge," Denmark whispers hoarsely as a trickle of blood starts to meander down his bruised knuckles.

_But what if Norge traded places on purpose? _An unwelcome thought niggles at his brain.

_No,_ he pushes back. He won't allow himself to think like that. What if Norge needs him?

_But what if he doesn't?_

He could be hurt.

_Or he could be perfectly fine._

He could be in trouble.

_Or he could be happy._

Denmark trips over his own thoughts and falters, fist pausing for a split second before smashing into the door with a vengeance. He lets out a strangled cry as the skin on his knuckles splits and spills blood down his hand.

_Where did you go, Norge?_

A sob racks his body and he slumps to the floor, suddenly out of energy. He hides his face in his hands and rocks back and forth on his knees as his shoulders start to shake. Just when everything was going well, just when he'd had everything he'd ever wanted; it was snatched away without warning. Just like that, he'd lost everything. A small teardrop glides down his cheek and splashes gently on the floor. The single tear is followed by many others as he cries softly, wishing that none of this happened.

_Of all people, why me? Why not Sve or Finny? Why not America, England, Germany, Italy or even just the man who sells fish in the centre of the village on Saturday afternoons? Why?_

The pain feels so new, the desperation so fresh. It's so recent that Norge left, it feels almost as though he can reach through time and pluck him out of the past, bringing him safe and sound into the present. But he can't. There's no use in thinking like that, because there's nothing he can do but sit and wait.

After a while, his knees start to ache and his nose runs, but he stays put. His head tilts back and he stares up at the white ceiling, feeling empty and fake like someone had scraped out all of his insides and left him hollow. Now, he's just a shell.

_Why, Norge?_

"I-I just w-want to know why," he hiccups. "Wh-why did you g-go?"

He wants to know so much more than why. He wants to know where.

"Where did you go?"

He wants to know what.

"What happened?"

He wants to know how.

"How did he take you away from me?"

But out of every question threatening to tear him apart, he just needs to know one thing.

_Are you okay Norge?_

Denmark rubs his nose gently as tears continue to streak down his face.

_Am _I_?_

He stares out at the bleak, empty winter skies, feeling like it reflects him perfectly. Tears slip down his face and he closes his eyes, rocking back to rest on his heels and letting his hands fall to the floor.

_How am I supposed to save you, Norge?_

The bleak, grey, emptiness of the winter skies is nothing compared to Denmark's heart. The one person he loves snatched away from right under his nose. How is he supposed to survive without Norge? How is he supposed to help his friend if he doesn't even know where he is? Let alone where to start looking? How is he supposed to be okay, knowing that all of this is his fault?

_Why did you leave me?_

"Why did you go, Norge?" The Dane repeats softly. "Why did you leave me?"

He lifts his head, his previously sparkling eyes devoid of any light or depth.

"Was I not good enough for you?" His voice is dead as he poses the question to the air. A white bird chirps softly and lands on his windowsill, tilting its head. Uninterested, he stares at it. It chirps again and starts to sing a soft song. Denmark slowly clambers to feet with little show of effort, calmly walks over to the bird and grips it in his hand. It squawks in surprise and then pain as he crushes it in his fist.

"Why, Norge?" he spits out the question through gritted teeth, his voice carrying a strangled quality. "Why did you leave me?"

He's done with worrying and thinking about how things may or may not be. All he knows for sure is that he wants Norge back. The bird twitches and squawks hoarsely at him as his fist closes. It reminds him of the ones from his nightmare, so he continues to squeeze it, gleaning a small measure of satisfaction from its pain. It starts to cough and twitch more, nipping weakly at his already bleeding and bruised hand.

He stares blankly at its beady, black eyes as they start to dim. Let it cry out in pain, see if he cares. He's had enough pain of his own already.

_It's time someone else feels what I've been through, _Denmark thinks with faint, sadistic happiness filling his heart.

Again and again, it nips at his hand, attempting to free itself. Denmark frowns angrily and squeezes harder, somehow furious that the tiny animal is retaliating against him. It coughs again and again, its delicate lungs struggling to function.

_Dumb bird, _he thinks viciously, _you only survive because it's your instinct to do so. You have nothing to live for._

Its coughing starts to become erratic and irregular. He lets a smile ease its way onto his face. Let it die, see if he cares

_You can't even fight against me._

He lets out a clipped laugh.

_You're weak._

The bird ceases struggling, its coughing gradually becoming more and more subdued.

_And I'm strong._

His smile grows wider.

_Why shouldn't I take advantage of that?_

It lets out a final cough and goes limp.

Slowly, he unfurls his fingers, letting the bird drop onto the rough, grey stone windowsill with a light thump. His gaze is steady as he stares at the dead animal, mind blank as if every thought and feeling had died with it. It isn't bleeding, and somehow that bothers him. Denmark reaches out to touch it as if in a trance.

And then his fist slams against the stone.

"Dammit!" Ripping back the thin, white curtains and baring the cloudless winter sky, he shouts, "Norge! Don't you ever come back, dammit! I hate you!"

Swaying slightly, he grips the curtain with both hands. He falls to his knees, sobs wrenching their way up and out of his throat.

"Dammit."

He's done with crying.

"Dammit, Norge!"

Denmark scrambles to his feet and digs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He won't cry. He can't. His bright blue eyes shine wildly, the light from the windows reflecting off and rendering them a dark grey. Without thinking, he pounds his fist into the rough, jagged, square stone brick of the fireplace mantel. Pain shoots up through his aching knuckles and wrists, widening old wounds and opening new ones.

The pain stokes the fire of his fury and he runs his hand along the top, knocking over every picture and decorative item placed there. Pictures of him and Norway fall to the hardwood floor, frames and glass smashing and throwing pieces of sharp glass everywhere. A delicate little sculpture of a nisse Norway had given him for Christmas one year follows the pictures, smashing to the floor. Its thin neck snaps, spilling ceramic shards over the wood. He doesn't even pause.

Little shards of glass pepper his skin and catch in the rough fabric of his pants. He takes a step forward and winces. A guttural sound escapes from his throat as his foot falls on a sharp piece of glass sticking out at an odd angle from the small pile of broken memories. It pricks the skin, opening a gap wide enough for it to squeeze into. It sinks deep into his foot, cutting through muscles and hitting bone. Blood pours out, staining the soft, white rug the deep crimson of red.

He drops heavily to his knees and pinches the edge of the glass, pulling it out slowly. Grimacing in agony, he continues at it, his knuckles going white with the effort. Finally, the piece slides free, blood spilling out of the new cut. Droplets splatter across the floor, dripping down from his knuckles and decorating the rug and hardwood with bright rubies of blood.

Slowly, he looks up. Once, the bedroom was decorated in white, but now, everything is red. Crystal ruby red stands out starkly against a background of purest, snowy white, invasively creeping into his periphery and painting everything in the same crimson shade.

_Blood, blood, too much blood._

Denmark's head spins, his vision blurring. All he can see is the blood: the blood that litters the floor, red as a ruby; the blood that streaks the door, dark as wine; the blood that speckles the mantel, crystalline rouge.

"No," he mumbles incoherently, 'no' being the only rational thought flitting through his mind. "No."

Big blue eyes hold pain and fear as he wrenches them shut.

_It's too much._

The blood creeps into his thoughts and twists them down a path he doesn't want to follow, but doesn't think he can avoid.

"No."

_Don't do this._

It's too much.

_Don't do this._

The heels of his hands press into his eyes.

_Please don't do this._

"No."

_Don't do this to me!_

Fevered thoughts flit by quickly, half-formed and irrelevant.

_I can't do this!_

The only relevant thing is the blood.

_This is too much!_

Too much, too much and yet, not enough.

_Please, I can't do this!_

White flicks past his pupils, the only variation in a sea of crystal red.

_Don't make me._

His eyes stutter open, shock written on his face as readable as a book.

_I can't._

As if in a trance, his head shifts to the right, turning agonizingly slow.

_Please._

Minute-old memories flood back to the forefront of his mind; the nisse, the photos, the bird, the door, the kiss, the nightmare, and Norge.

_I can't._

But not his Norge.

_Please!_

And now he's alone. All alone. So very, very alone.

_Somebody help me!_

Buried thoughts cry out, pleading for help, going unheard, unrecognized and unfulfilled.

_Help!_

In that very moment, something snaps, echoing in the blank, heavy silence. He can't tell if it was real. He can't distinguish the thin line between reality and madness anymore.

_Don't leave me!_

Suddenly, he's on his feet.

_Please!_

His fingers scrabble at the broken glass, tearing through the cruel pile of broken pictures and frames. Stray pieces slice into his hands, opening fresh wounds and bringing fresh pain. Blood runs through his fingers, dribbling down the photos, dripping bright red. Memories captured in single, glossy moments are hidden, erased from the world and his mind with the little droplets of blood.

His fingers latch onto something solid and pitted and close around it. Withdrawing his hand from the broken glass, he pulls out his prize: a long, slim, sharp piece of glass. It shimmers as he holds it up to the light. Chips and shallow cracks mar its formerly smooth surface, creating opaque pinpoints in the glass where light can only be absorbed or reflected. But he doesn't care about that. All he sees are the sleek, sharp edges and the tip that tapers to a neat point.

Raising the shard, he lets it rest just above his skin, before plunging it in, dragging it from the inside of his elbow to his wrist. Its tip is submerged deep into the muscle, cutting close to the bone. Blood wells up and runs thickly down his arm, bursting forth from opened veins.

_More._

Again, he plunges it into his skin, this time his bicep, and yanks it down, digging as far into the muscle as he can tolerate. Denmark's arm twitches as he cuts into it, unable to take the pain any longer. He bites down on his bottom lip to keep from crying out, front teeth piercing the chapped skin and drawing out beads of blood. The metallic taste explodes on his tongue and he whimpers, the memories of his nightmare rushing back in disturbing detail. He can't miss the connections.

_Everything is connected to now: the white stone halls painted in ruby red; the white birds flocking to him; the blood spilled; Norge vanishing without reason._

He shakes his head mutely, attempting futilely to dispel the unwanted thoughts.

_And now: the white room covered in the same ruby shade; the white bird on the windowsill; the blood running down his arm, his foot, and his hands; Norge disappearing without a trace._

A small sob escapes his throat as the only sound he is able to make.

_There's too much._

His arm goes numb in pins and needles. Frantically, he tries to twitch his fingers. They don't even move.

_It's too much!_

Panic flares up in his stomach. The bloody shard drops to the floor, the sound of it pinging against the hardwood deafening to his ears. Another sob escapes his throat and he hides his face with his left hand, acutely aware of the loss on his right.

_Help!_

He lifts his head and cries out in despair. Pain shoots up through his arm and into his shoulder and collarbone continuously.

_Don't go._

Denmark fixes his bleary eyes on the white ceiling. It's the only piece of the room left entirely intact.

_Don't go._

Stretching out his left arm to the ceiling, he spreads out his fingers. They slowly close, the distance perspective making it look as though he's grasping the glass beads of the crystal chandelier.

_Don't leave me all alone._

A sad smile stretches across his face and he lets out a short bark of laughter at his thoughts. It's way too late to ask that.

_I don't want to be alone._

But what can he do about it?

_I don't want to be left by myself in silence with just the loudness of my thoughts to keep me company._

The only voice he can hear is his own.

_I don't want to lose myself._

But he already has.

**A/N: Huehuehue~! I feel so evil, it's making me happy! :D Hope you likes this new update! Updates will be kinda slow because of school. Ugh. School. :P But oh well, it is what it is.**

**Please give me feedback! ^^**

**Thanks for reading this far and keep your eyes peeled for updates coming (hopefully) soon! O_O**


	5. Chapter 5

He floats in the light, suspended. Nothing exists around him, no shadows, no people, nothing. Without the shadows to juxtapose the light, he can't tell how bright it is or if it even is bright. All he sees is white.

_Where am I?_

He tries to turn around, but is unsure of whether or not he's succeeded. There's nothing to gauge his distance or movement by, not even his body. He hangs suspended from nothing as just his consciousness.

_Am I in my mind?_

It certainly seems plausible enough now, but before was different. Before was darkness and light that brought pain, now it's just white and unfeelingness. What's the difference? In the end, they're both just nothing.

A distinctly familiar voice calls out, the words indistinguishable from the white noise. He strains his ears as the voice continues to repeat the same sounds. Vaguely, he wonders if it's an echo.

"Lukas!"

It's calling his name.

_Where are you?_

He can't speak, but he hopes that somehow, the other person can hear him.

"Lukas, wake up!"

_Am I asleep?_

He tries to swim through the white. Where is he? Can he even wake up?

"Lukas, dammit!"

The voice sounds angry now and he's still unable to place it. Who is it?

_Does it even matter? _He thinks angrily. _I just want to wake up!_

He feels a jolt and suddenly, he's lying on his back on the ground staring up at big, blue eyes. Groggily, he forces his purple-blue eyes open, blinking at the sudden light. It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust, and when they do, he notices a man is leaning over him. The man's strong hands grip his shoulders painfully.

"I thought you'd never wake up," the man leans back to sit on his heels.

Taking stock of his body, he searches frantically for something – anything – wrong. He can feel his fingers tapping against the soft, white rug beneath him, he can feel it as his biceps contract to lift his hand to his face, he can see his flesh, connected and stretched over muscle and bone where it should be. Exhaling slowly, he sits up, rubbing his watery eyes and letting relief wash through him. Everything is alright, though the memory of the pain haunts his movements.

"Something wrong?" There's an edge to the man's voice as he asks.

"Who a-" he freezes midsentence, stunned. The face is so familiar he could draw it, flaws and all, by heart. "Denmark?"

"Of course," the man grunts. "Didja hit your head or something, Lukas?" The edge to his voice sharpens as he speaks.

Norway frowns, irked, "Since when did you start calling me Lukas? You know I prefer Norw-"

Denmark's hand shoots out to slam Norway's chin upwards into his jaw, closing his mouth. Grunting in pain from the sudden impact, he tastes blood on his tongue.

"I don't care what you prefer," his grip tightens in tandem with his voice. "I own you, or did you forget?"

"No, you don't," Norway growls haltingly between his clenched teeth.

The Dane lets out a short, humorless laugh. "Yes, I do and you'd better remember that from now on."

"I'm not owned by anyone," Norway's hands grasp at Denmark's, loosening his grip. "Least of all you."

_This isn't like him at all, _Norway lets his features stay neutral, trying not to let his anger show through. _What the hell is wrong with him?_

Instead of arguing, Denmark snaps Norway's head back, surprising him.

"What the-?" Norway gasps out, momentarily stunned. His fingers release Denmark's.

He smiles evilly, and uses his other hand to seize the front of Norway's blue, sailor shirt, his hand easily grasping the soft cloth. Seemingly without effort, the Dane lifts Norway off of his knees, carrying him across the room.

"Mmm!" Norway cries, unable to articulate his words properly with Denmark's strong hand at his neck. He kicks feebly at Denmark who doesn't react when his feet connect with his stomach. Furiously, he tries to open his mouth, determined to speak, but finds he can't open his mouth enough to do so.

_Dammit, Denmark! What the hell? _He thinks. Norway tries to take a breath, but with his windpipe currently being crushed, he finds that breathing is out of the question. He gasps and struggles against Denmark's firm grip, thoroughly furious and confused. Since when did Denmark hurt him on purpose?

Norway is thrown onto the soft, white comforter of the bed, gasping for air with the sudden release. Briefly, he wonders why a grown man would want a glow-in-the-dark star-adorned canopy draped over his king bed before being slammed into the mahogany headboard. Back connecting painfully with the hard wood, the breath is once again knocked out of him as his neck snaps back once again.

"What the hell?!" Norway yells in agony, his neck protesting when he rolls it forwards. Denmark is so dead.

Strong fingers wrap around his neck, the nails digging in uncomfortably.

"No," Norway protests angrily. He reaches up and grasps Denmark's fingers attempting to wrench them away from his neck. "No, no, no. Denmark, you idiot." He's not strong enough.

"Tell me, Lukas," Denmark brings his face close to his so that their noses are mere centimetres away, mocking him. "How does it feel?"

A strangled cough escapes Norway's throat as he once again struggles to breathe.

"Y-you bastard," he manages to force out before lapsing into a coughing fit. Denmark smiles at his weakness, leaning his weight forward, increasing the pressure on Norway's neck.

"How does it feel, Lukas?" He crows softly, a small smile gracing his lips. Norway's heart falters for a second. "How does it feel to be helpless?" His smile turns sadistic and Norway's heart starts to beat faster. Suddenly, he feels like he's suffocating.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

Denmark slowly leans closer, his eyes drooping closed. Norway stays perfectly still, anticipating what is to come. He knows he shouldn't want this, but he can't seem to make himself pull away. The Dane smirks as if he can read Norway's thoughts, getting closer and closer. Their noses brush against each other and Norway can feel himself gasp, his eyes fluttering helplessly closed before Denmark smashes his lips into his own. Denmark's tongue slips out and runs along Norway's bottom lip. Unable to help himself, he parts his lips, blushing uncontrollably as Denmark's tongue explores his mouth. His tongue lingers on the roof of Norway's mouth just long enough for Norway to groan happily.

Denmark pushes against Norway, letting his hands fall from his neck and push against his chest instead. Norway can feel himself smile against Denmark's lips. It feels as though he's complete, like this is all he'll ever need.

He gasps as Denmark bites his bottom lip. Blood beads and decorates his lip, making its way into his mouth and exploding on his tongue with a metallic flavour. He's beyond caring.

"A-Anko!" Norway gasps, the old nickname slipping out. Denmark pauses and pulls away, frowning slightly. Norway stares up at him vulnerably, reaching out to grasp his shirt. "Anko?"

Denmark's finger traces the curve of Norway's eyebrow tenderly, the corner of his eyes crinkling softly. Norway's breath hitches as Denmark's hand trails down to his cheek, cupping it softly. Dark anger spreads over his face all of a sudden and he pulls back his hand.

"Anko?" Norway asks, uncertain. His head snaps to the side as Denmark's hand connects with his cheek forcefully. Stunned, he holds a hand up to his face, fingers exploring the pain blossoming on his cheek.

"What was that for?" He cries, hurt.

_Why is Denmark being so mean?_

Denmark throws his fist into Norway's stomach. He pauses, an unreadable look passing over his face before slamming his fists into Norway, continually beating him. Unceasingly, he attacks Norway, smashing his fists in tandem into his body. Right, left, right, left, right, left until every inch of Norway aches. Curling into a ball, a tear slips down his face. He starts to sob.

"A-Anko, stop! Stop it!" He whimpers, his entire body bruised and sore. Denmark pulls back suddenly, shock flickering over his face. His eyes switch between his fists and Norway's curled up, bloody, bruised form.

"L-Lukas?" His voice cracks. Silence descends; the sound of Norway's sobs the only noise in the room. Denmark reaches out, halting suddenly when Norway jerks away from him.

"Lukas?" He whispers hoarsely, sounding close to crying. Filled with an unexplainable feeling of pity, he lifts his gaze to Denmark, careful to move slowly.

"Lukas, I'm sorry," his voice breaks and he hangs his head, his façade of calmness nearly shattering. Taking a deep breath, he looks up, wincing as he forces himself to look into Norway's defenceless, blue eyes.

"You went missing," he says softly. "Nobody could find you, no matter how hard we looked. You went away. You left me, Lukas," his voice hitches and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. "You never even said goodbye."

Norway frowns and opens his mouth to reply, but Denmark holds a finger to his lips. "You're back now."

He hugs Norway, pulling him close and wrapping him up in his strong arms. Norway reaches up and hugs Denmark, resting his head against his chest. The way Denmark holds him: carefully as though he could fall apart at any moment, makes him feel safe.

"Promise me, Lukas," Denmark whispers quietly. "Promise me you won't leave me again."

Norway nods, letting his eyes slip closed. It doesn't matter that he doesn't remember right now. Everything will be okay, because he's not leaving Denmark, regardless of whether or not he ever has.

"I promise, Anko. I promise I will never leave."

He has no regrets.

**A/N: There you go! Another chapter! I hope it was worth the wait… (_ _;)**

**I kind of wanted to make Norge a girl… Should I? It would make for an interesting story dynamic, but I'm not sure if I should… Let me know what you think!**


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